Dressed in ugly* boots,
blue singleted and jeaned, it's difficult to believe
there could ever be artistry.

Each movement, so fluid, so
calmly minimalistic,
so underwater exquisite,
as he sleep - walk - floats
to steel-swinged-door,
emerges backwards pulling ewe, gently after.

She arrives without struggle,
all manoeuvring being
temperate, she cannot help
but be tolerant.
So
redolent of ice-skating,
of effortless routine.

He leans,
scoops quizzical upturned face, directs
so that head
correctly choreographs - dying swan.
Now belly can be skimmed clean,
the bit of fleece
flicked lightly away.

He then transposes
left,
slide-step, slide-step, slide-step - guiding,
as lead is wont -
to nominated position.
Knee now rests between legs -
but no complaint,
for she is more than weary of her weight
of wool - small sacrifice to pay.

Left leg's burden peels away,
folding over, a dying wave.
Flank served next, the comb caressing,
she is entirely acquiescent
as all is swept away
before
a hand that seems to say: There you are,
m'lady.

When finally divested, raised up, supported,
she wears euphoric expression,
as if emerging from emersion,
an entirely new person.

*ugly boots - ugg boots originally made from sheepskin and worn by Australian and New Zealand shearers

http://bildle.angelfire.com/pic.Dying.Swan.Pavlova.jpg